Cold Christmas
by Channel D
Summary: Gibs' team has to work on Christmas Day, and tragedy befalls them while Gibbs is away. Will his guilt overpower him? A holiday story in four chapters; now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Cold Christmas**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the season

_rating_: K plus

_genre_: drama

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

_We had to work on Christmas Day,  
__On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day  
__We had to work on Christmas Day  
__At 8 o'clock in the morning…_

Tony strode into the squad room, warbling his version of the notable old Christmas carol as he walked. Light snow still clung to his coat, not having all melted yet.

"Hey, what; the heat's not on in here?!" he said, about to take off his coat and thinking better of it.

"It is indeed cold," said Ziva, sitting at her desk with parka still on and the hood up. Her gloved hands clasped her cup of tea, and she was shivering.

Tim, also still in his coat, hung up his desk phone. "I've gotten through to Maintenance. They'll send someone out, but it may take awhile. There's only one guy on call today, it being Christmas."

"Where is our fearless leader Gibbs? Maybe he could use some of his scrap wood and build us a bonfire."

"We have not seen Gibbs yet," said Ziva. "And he has not called."

"That's not like him," Tony frowned. "Who else is stuck with having to work on Christmas, instead of laying around drinking eggnog, gorging on Christmas cookies and candies and watching endless showings of old movies?"

"That's what _you_ do every Christmas, Tony."

"Yes, and isn't it great? But answer my question, McGift."

Tim pulled up the day's duty roster. "Ned in Legal, Elle in Intel, Pedro in MTAC Support…and two guards. And us. That's it."

Ziva smiled impishly. "Until I started with NCIS, I worked every 25th of December and it never bothered me. It does not today, either."

"Good attitude, Ziva," said Gibbs, coming in with a tray of cups of hot chocolate and a plate of what looked like homemade spritz cookies.

"Thanks, boss!" "Thank you, Gibbs!" His team dug in. "Worth you being late, boss!"

Gibbs glared, mildly. "I told you yesterday I would likely be late, DiNozzo. There was one last batch of toys to pick up for the Toys for Tots drive."

"My bad, boss. You did say that."

"There's, ah, no heat in here, boss," Tim supplied. "Maintenance is sending someone to fix it."

Gibbs only grunted. No doubt he'd had his share of holidays with problems needing fixing. "Do what you need to do to stay warm. If you need to take whatever time in the gym to run laps, do it. Christmas Day is usually quiet here." His cell phone rang. After a moment, he sighed and turned back to them. "The Director is down with a bug, so I've got to go be the face of NCIS at the Toys for Tots press conference at the Pentagon. I should be back in a couple of hours."

He waved his arm at their three sets of puppy dog eyes. "No, you can't come with me. You'll have heat here soon enough. Get some work done."

When Gibbs left, Tim slapped his cold hands and said, "Bet the heat never goes off at the Pentagon."

"It wouldn't dare," said Tony.

- - - - -

"Okay, Mel; I'll be right down." Tim hung up his phone at smiled at his teammates. "The furnace repair guy's here! I'll go escort him…unless one of you wants to do it?"

It was five minutes before 11. They had survived, in some misery, nearly three hours of cold. Nearly three hours of constantly making more hot drinks to warm their hand and their insides, of doing calisthenics, of laps in the gym. Even so, the cold left them dull, and work on the current case was not going fast. "No; you summoned him; you deal with him, Probie," said Tony.

"He is probably a nice old man, about 70, a widower, who will tell you charming stories like Ducky does," Ziva said with a smile.

"Or he's a serial killer looking for his next victim…take your sig, McGee," Tony said wickedly.

Tim frowned, but did get his sig from his drawer and put it in his holster.

- - - - -

"The furnace room's down here," Tim said, leading the repairman. "Here, on the first floor."

"Not in the basement? I saw windows from the outside, you do have a basement."

"We do. I don't know why the furnace room is where it is. It's been there for well over 20 years, anyway."

"Man! That's ancient! I've never worked on anything that old!"

Tim turned to stare at the repairman, whose face was marked by pimples. "Just how old are you, anyway?" he asked, though not sure he'd like the answer.

"I'm nineteen," the young repairman huffed. The embroidered name on his shirt pocket read _Ralphie._ "I was nineteen last week."

"And do you think you can fix something older than you?"

Ralphie grinned insouciantly. "You'd better hope I can, 'cause I'm the only one in the family business working today." He grinned more at Tim's frown. "Don't worry, Pops; I can fix anything."

_At least _I_ don't have to pay him._ Tim unlocked the furnace room door. "Have at it, then." He switched on the light and set up a folding chair for himself.

"I work better without someone looking over my shoulder, Pops," said Ralphie.

"Too bad," said Tim. "Can't have you running loose in the building."

"You think you can stop me?"

Tim only smiled, and shifted position so that his sig became visible. Ralphie's eyes widened and he got straight to work.

- - - - -

In a little over half an hour, the furnace had been made to come back to life, and Tim escorted Ralphie out. "It should be nice and warm in here within an hour," he reported gleefully to Tony and Ziva back in the squad room.

"For that, McGee, Tony and I are buying you lunch," Ziva said.

"Of course, the only thing open within a mile is our own break room, but sure…claim your prize from the vending machine," Tony said grandly.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I'll take a can of chicken soup, if any are left."

"You got it."

"Gibbs isn't back yet?"

"Nope; and he hasn't called, either. We might as well break for lunch; it's not like this place is a hotbed of activity right now." That was true enough; not a phone had rung all morning.

"You said 'hot'," Ziva repeated dreamily.

Without Gibbs around, and considering it was Christmas, they enjoyed a leisurely lunch of microwaved soup, fruit Ziva had brought, and Gibbs' Christmas cookies. Ziva lifted her cup of tea in salute. "A Merry Christmas to you two," she said. They thanked her.

"I do believe it is getting warm in here, at last!" she said next, and slowly pulled off her parka.

"I think you're right," said Tim. "I'd be happier if I didn't have this headache, though."

"Always something, Probie?" Tony smirked.

"Fine. You want my headache; you can have it."

"Is that all you're giving me for Christmas?"

"No. My stomach is uneasy. You can have that, too."

"I already have a stomach, but thanks."

"What did you get for me?"

"Now now," Ziva chided. "We said we would exchange gifts at the end of our shift; not before." She then grimaced.

"Your head hurt, too?" asked Tony. "Or did McGee send you his headache by…airwave magic, which means he has _no_ gift for _me_?"

"I do have a gift for you, Tony," Tim responded. "And I still have my own headache. Why don't you have one?"

"The DiNozzos do not _get_ headaches; they _give_ them," Ziva said, causing Tim to applaud her.

"Har-dee har har," Tony sneered. "It just so happens that _I_ have a headache, too, now. McMedicine! Throw me your bottle of aspirin!"

Tim moved to comply, but stopped himself. "Don't even _think_ of putting a plastic bug in the bottle, like you did last time."

"Who, me?"

"I shall watch him, McGee." Ziva took off her coat and gloves. "The temperature is actually getting pleasant. Although I feel like I could use a nap…"

"You never nap," Tony frowned. "It would be like Gibbs taking a nap. Unnatural. Against the laws of the universe. There would be a rift in the fabric of time."

"You do not know me as well as you think you do." Ziva yawned. "Just 40 wunks. That is all I need…" She folded her arms on her desk and put her head down on it.

"The word is 'winks'."

"Are you certain?" asked Ziva, already sounding half-asleep. "How can one wink if they are sleeping?"

"Well, _someone_ should do some work around here if she's going to sleep," Tony growled. "McGee. Do some work."

Tim gave him a cold look. "No problem. I'm the one Gibbs would be expecting to be working, after all."

"Oh, you wound me! Well, as the senior agent. I'll supervise you. Start typing…" Tony leaned back in his chair, and thought that closing his own eyes was a good idea.

Tim typed for a moment, and yet couldn't figure out why the words on the monitor seemed to be in motion. He tried squinting, and tilting his head, but if anything, that made it worse. There was a sour taste in his mouth; no doubt a side effect of his upset stomach. "Oh, man," he said, getting to his feet unsteadily. "Tony…?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

- - - - -

"What, Dad?" Tony mumbled. Through half-opened eyes he saw his father coming toward him. "Is it time for me to go back to school?"

His old man said something, but Tony couldn't make out the words. His head felt as heavy as the fountain in the family garden. Tony closed his eyes again.

"Tony, wake up!" Tim persisted. "Something's wrong in here. I know it's wrong." He could feel it in his body. His gut hurt and even breathing was becoming painful. Trying to get to Tony, he didn't make it; dropping at first to his knees and then deciding to rest his aching head on the floor. _Just rest for a moment…_

- - - - -

Gibbs strode into the building just after 1 o'clock, bearing a couple large bags of Chinese food. Thank heavens for finding an open restaurant of any kind today; but Chinese was always welcome. He really did feel a little sorry for his team, having to work in the cold building. With luck, the heat would be on by now and they could enjoy a nice hot lunch together. He'd selected some of everyone's favorites, for he knew his team's preferences: sesame chicken, orange crispy beef, Peking duck, lo mein. Wonton soup and white rice rounded it out. Chop sticks, of course; plastic spoons for the soup. And fortune cookies. They would laugh over choosing "the" right, unwrapped cookie for each of them, and then would read out the fortunes, one by one, and laugh again.

The same guards were still on duty, he saw. The guy in charge of mixing up the guard details so that no one could never be sure who was going to be on (a security thing) probably figured that the risk was minimal on a low-traffic day like Christmas. Mel and Orwen; those were today's guards. A mismatched pair, but they seemed to get along when they were on duty together. Mel was a former football player; tall and built like a truck. Orwen, on the other hand, was probably about the minimum height for a guard, about 5'6" and half Mel's weight. He liked to strut. Gibbs thought of them as a Great Dane with a companion/friend in a toy poodle.

Mel smiled at Gibbs, a trifle wanly, when Gibbs returned and slid his ID through the reader. "Welcome back, Agent Gibbs."

"All quiet here, Mel?" Gibbs asked.

"Quiet as a tomb, sir." The guard put a hand to his aching head.

"What's that sound?" Somewhere, far off, an alarm was sounding…not loudly, but persistent.

The guard Orwen was sitting down…not customary for a guard, but Gibbs was willing to cut him some slack for the day. "Don't know," Orwen said, his face looking a little pained. "With just the two of us here, we can't go check it out. That's regulation 32.1.c.4. But we did call it in. Regulation 5.26.4.a.7."

_Probably a computer overheating. Or a storeroom door left open._ "You guys okay? You both look a little off-color."

"Bad air in the building, I guess, sir, in this cold weather. That and boredom." Mel grinned. "We'll be fine. Only three more hours to go on our shift."

"It feels warmer in here now. Did the heat get fixed?"

"Yes, sir. The furnace guy left here, oh, over an hour ago."

"Good, good. Well, if I don't see you again, have a Merry Christmas." Gibbs hadn't forgotten them in his stop at the restaurant, and dug from one of his sacks containers of soup and lo mein for them. Over their profuse thanks, he went up in the elevator.

The squad room was quiet…and more than quiet; it was soundless. Gibbs was puzzled. But he saw DiNozzo at his desk, reclining in his chair, asleep. Ziva was asleep with her head nestled in her arms on her desk. Tim was not in sight.

Gibbs grunted. Easing off work on a major holiday was one thing, but sleeping on the job was intolerable. "DiNozzo!" No answer. Gibbs was about to administer a head slap when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Tim lying prone on the floor.

And by carefully listening, he could hear the alarm that he had heard on the first floor…

_Carbon monoxide alarm!!_ That had to be it!

The sacks of Chinese food clattered to the floor, spilling their contents, as he rushed to shake his team. Each person was non-responsive. With a barely steady hand, he called 911, ending the call as quickly as he could.

_Triage_. He could get Ziva out the quickest; he knew he could carry her. And he did, down the elevator and out, at a run, past the startled guards.

Gibbs set Ziva down, gently, on the walkway just outside the door. Mel and Orwen, curious, had followed him out. "Carbon monoxide, I'm pretty sure," said Gibbs, checking on Ziva and relieved to find her breathing. "That's what's made you two feel sick. Are you able to help me get my two men out?"

Orwen came to a near salute. He was an amusing, for a little martinet. "Ready and willing, sir!"

"Okay. With me, then." He led them to the squad room. With Orwen's assistance, Gibbs carried Tony out. Mel picked up Tim effortlessly and brought him out in a fireman's carry.

The timing was good. Ambulances, fire trucks and police cars roared up to the front of the building just as they were exiting it.

"Carbon monoxide, I think," Gibbs said to the fire chief. "We just had the furnace fixed this morning, and I just came back to find them all unconscious."

While EMTs fitted oxygen masks to his team's faces, the chief grabbed a device from his truck and stepped inside the building's entrance. He came back out a minute later, shaking his head. "You pegged it. I've got a reading of about 1700 parts per million. Is everyone out of the building?"

_Crap!_ "No. We have three other people on duty today. I'll show you…"

"Thanks, but you've had enough exposure. Draw me a diagram of where you think they are, and we'll get them." Firemen were already putting on masks.

Watching the EMTs test his team's blood levels with another device at the fingertip, Gibbs only nodded. They were all still unconscious.

"You can't go in there without an escort! Agent Gibbs—!"

"Easy, Orwen. I'm okaying it," said Gibbs.

Ambulances soon whisked Tony, Ziva and Tim away. Mel and Orwen were given oxygen and then, over their protests, taken to the hospital, too.

"Agent Gibbs," said the fire chief. "You should be checked out, too. The CO-oximeter shows your carboxyhemoglobin level to be a bit high."

"I'm fine."

"Sir—"

"These people are my responsibility. Everyone who was working here today. Wait until they're all out."

Firemen escorted out the remaining three staffers, all looking groggy but on their feet. The woman was crying.

Gibbs was faced with questions from the police; questions he couldn't answer. Who repaired the furnace? When? When had the heat gone out? Did anyone from NCIS oversee the repairs? Did he suspect sabotage? Where was he during all of this, if he was in charge?

That last one he could answer. "I had to be at a press conference at the Pentagon," he said in irritation. "Contact Col. Quinones for verification. You might catch us on the 6 o'clock news; the Toys for Tots drive. And if there _is_ sabotage…that would be a matter for our internal affairs, and possibly the FBI."

"No need to get snippy, Agent Gibbs," snapped the police detective.

"How do you _expect_ me to react?! I nearly just lost my entire team. Speaking of which…I'm going to the hospital as soon as I can get someone else out here. No, I'll drive myself." He walked a little ways off and pulled out his cell phone.

- - - - -

_"Gah."_ It was an exclamation broken off by a fit of coughing. _"I'm stunned. I wish I could go to the hospital to be with them, but with this dang cold, the hospital wouldn't appreciate me visiting,"_ said Vance.

"Can you send someone out to oversee the building?"

_"I'll find someone…Schultz. She's been looking for an excuse to build up more leave hours. She wants to go on a cruise in February. She can lock up the building when the fire department is done; we'll work with a skeleton staff out of Building #200 until the furnace is fixed the right way. I'll notify the evening shifts, too. Hold tight there until she arrives."_

"Got it." With a sigh, Gibbs clicked his phone off. More than anything, he wanted to be with team…and now. But as a member of management, he had other priorities; protecting NCIS being chief among them. The doctors would take care of the team, but…but…

- - - - -

"Hey, Gibbs. Merry Christmas."

Not 45 minutes since Gibbs had talked to Vance, team leader Klara Schultz had seemingly flown down the road from her home in Maryland. Traffic must be almost non-existent. Now she walked toward him, wearing a half-smile and snowflakes dotting her salt-and-pepper hair.

"Yeah," he answered. Under the best of times, he and Schultz only tolerated each other; they were of such different types.

"Vance just said come, so I did. I didn't ask if there were any casualties…"

"Everyone who was in the building at the time. I was at the Pentagon; just got back…"

Schultz swore. "How bad?"

"All except my team were able to walk out, with assistance. I guess…we have some strong pipe going up to the squad room…my team was all still unconscious when the ambulances took them away."

One accusation one could never make of Schultz was that she lacked compassion. Tears filling her eyes, she blustered, "It's because we've always complained about the heat loss in winter there. Those big old windows, and the skylights…we complained, and they must have modified the furnace…"

"You don't know that."

"No, but I hypothesize with the best of them. Oh, Gibbs; I'm so sorry."

"They'll be okay," he said, gruffly.

"I pray they will. Get going. Be with them. I'll take over here and get #200 ready for the night shift and tomorrow."

"Thanks, Schultz. Merry Christmas to you."

As he walked off, she muttered, "I didn't want to build up vacation time _this_ way…"

- - - - -

Arriving at Bethesda Hospital, Gibbs got updates on his team. All had been placed in hyperbaric chambers for hyperbaric oxygen therapy; all were still unconscious. He knew that that wasn't good; not good at all.

_Why did the furnace have to go on the blink now? Why did the stupid HVAC guy screw up?_

_Why didn't I think to call my team, to check on them? Not that they're not responsible, but they were working under adverse conditions._

_And here I thought that bringing them Chinese food would make up for it…!_

"Jethro…"

Gibbs was roused from his thoughts. "Duck!...Abbs! What…?"

"Vance called us," said Abby. "You shouldn't have to wait alone." She and Ducky took a seat on either side of Gibbs.

"What's the likely outcome, Duck?" Gibbs asked. "They're still out cold."

Ducky looked grave. "At the ppm the Director told me about, it can be…quite serious. The statistics on CO poisoning are grim."

A doctor came out. "Agent Gibbs? I think it's time to contact a family…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

- - - - -

Gibbs got up and walked away, across the room, as the doctor (who looked a little surprised at his actions) spoke to Ducky and Abby. Gibbs didn't want to hear, didn't want to know, not yet. He didn't want _any_ of it to be true. And while he knew that he had a reputation for being the strong man, the stoic…for once, he would shed that and just walk away.

He'd known grief in his life. Unbearable grief. The senseless loss of Shannon and Kelly. And now…now, the possible loss of his entire team. The team he'd nurtured and formed, and grown to care about.

And on _Christmas_.

You never forget Life's tragedies. But he'd known men who'd suffered their losses at Christmas, and who'd been torn apart by it; feeling there was no goodness left in the world.

He was about to become one of them.

He glanced back at Ducky and Abby. Abby was sobbing and leaning into Ducky, who looked deeply saddened.

There was no comfort that Gibbs could give to them. No words; no actions. Those two had each other, and for the moment, that would have to suffice.

Quietly, Gibbs left the room, and sought out the hospital chapel.

He wasn't an overly religious man, but he did know the power of comfort that a place of worship could provide…and comfort was what he needed right now. Not something to tell him that _everything was going to be all right,_ because he knew that wasn't likely to be so. Just something peaceful; non-judgmental, until he could reason this out.

_This is all my fault. I could have…should have…closed down the building when we discovered the heat was off. Dang 19 degrees outside, and I made them work in the cold. It was probably only about 50 degrees inside. That's too cold. I should have sent them to Building #200 right away. I should have…_

_But I didn't. Why? I had the authority to do it. I just couldn't be bothered. I didn't think it would be a big deal. I had to go to the Pentagon, and that irked me. I wasn't thinking about anyone but myself._

_I felt sorry for myself. Sure, I believe in the Toys for Tots drive; I donate to it every year. But I hated to interrupt my routine and have to be on display at that press conference. All because Vance had a dang cold and couldn't do it._

_I knew, or should have known, the dangers of a faulty heating system. I've read about it. Growing up, I remember a family in my town that nearly perished due to CO. You never think it can happen to you…_

…_or to people you care about…_

…_people for whom you're responsible…_

He gripped his hands tightly as he sat in a pew.

_If I lose them…any of them…_

_I'll…_

He knew what he'd do. He'd live in a bottle, and decamp once and for all for Mexico. And he'd be lucky to make it that far. More likely than not, the booze would hold him back. He'd die in sodden, liquor-soaked pieces. The guilt would follow him to the very end; a cloud forever blocking the daylight.

_And I've never told them how I felt. How much I value all of them._

_They would think I'm nuts if I did so. It's not something I would do._

_But as I get older, I see the value of it. And I've seen the faces of those who never said those words to the people they cared about, until it was too late to do so. And they never now would have the chance._

_If I can…God, give me the chance…I _will_ tell them. Let DiNozzo laugh, and McGee look surprised and uncomfortable, and Ziva smile mysteriously. I won't care._

_It's too important a thing not to do._

He didn't know how long he sat there. Only dimly was he aware that other chapel visitors came and went around him. Other people troubled by family and friends, sick and suffering on Christmas Day. Some, probably, did not celebrate Christmas, and just looked for other spiritual solace.

_Christmas…they didn't complain too much about having to work today. They accept that we have to work on holidays sometimes. I know McGee would rather be with his family, Tony was talking back in September about going to Cancun, and Ziva would probably just enjoy a quiet day off. Me, I might have gone to see Jack. We'd been apart for so long, and he's the only family I have._

_Except for my team._

His thoughts wandered toward them as individuals, but then something caught his attention.

An old woman came in in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse. "How long do you want, Mrs. Bronson?" the nurse asked her quietly as she parked the chair not far from where Gibbs sat.

"Half an hour will do, Miss Teddings. Thank you." The old woman smiled slightly as the nurse left her, and then caught Gibbs' eye and smiled a little more. "How do you do?" she asked. It was both a polite gesture and a bit of genuine curiosity.

"Fine, thank you," Gibbs replied. "And you?"

There was a faded twinkle in her light-colored eyes. "I don't know how well any one can be doing, when they're at a hospital on Christmas Day."

He smiled and nodded pleasantly. Then he noticed the cast on her leg. "Will you be in here long?"

"Long enough for boredom to set in, which it already has." She sighed. "There are places I'd rather be over Christmas. A hospital doesn't even make my Top 20 list."

Gibbs chuckled. "Mine, either."

She looked at him soberly. "You don't look ill. You must have loved ones in the hospital. Ones not doing well."

"Yes," he said simply, and then elaborated, although he didn't know why he was opening up to her. "Three. People who work for me. Carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry for that." Her silence showed she understood the gravity of it.

"And your family?" Gibbs asked. "They're not here with you, on Christmas?"

"I have none," Mrs. Bronson said. "Widowed 20 years. My daughter, my only child, died before that. No siblings, no relations. Oh, but don't feel sorry for me. I do all right. I'm spry for 87; I still maintain my own home, I'm active in my church and the Red Hat club. I read romance novels and detective novels and westerns. I knit and crochet a lot for charity."

"If it's not too personal…what brings you to the chapel?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, while I'm active in my church, I do believe in God in my own way. Part of my activity is merely social. I've been a member of my church since I was a girl. But here…on Christmas…I feel I should be counting my blessings instead of cursing my broken leg. I've had losses in my life, but so many pleasures, too."

"Did you ever have a loss _at_ Christmas?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I think you reveal a lot about yourself, sir. You've had losses before…people very close to you. A wife, and children? A parent? And now you face new losses…these colleagues who evidently mean so much to you. And you're afraid. Afraid of being alone, of missing them. Afraid of it tainting the happy time that should be Christmas."

He only nodded.

"Losses are a part of Life's journey, just as gains are."

"I know that," he said, a little too sharply. "I just feel…I could have done something, maybe to prevent this. If only…"

She waved this away. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Guilt is a taskmaster. Do not let it consume you. I bear years more of guilt than you do. I should have told my daughter more how much I loved her, for truly, I did adore her. But I never said it. I was a little better with my husband, but there could have been more. There _always_ could have been more."

_Guilt is a taskmaster._ Yes, Gibbs knew that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life drinking his pain away.

Mrs. Bronson said, gently, "While your people still live, you still have time to tell them."

Startled from his wandering thoughts, Gibbs had to ask her to repeat that.

_There's still time. There's still time. It's just as I thought. They say people in comas can sometimes hear what's said to them…_

He sprang up. "You're right. You're so right. Can I…do anything for you? Take you anywhere?"

The old woman smiled. "No, thank you. I have all I need. Go and sit with your people."

He wanted to say something to her like _God bless_ but she looked like the reserved type who wouldn't go in for that, from a stranger. So he only smiled back and walked out…and then broke into a run.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

- - - - -

Gibbs returned to the hospital's center for hyperbaric oxygen treatment. Ducky and Abby were not in sight in the waiting room. A nurse directed Gibbs to a room in which Tony and Tim were resting, and there Gibbs found his people.

Abby felt Gibbs' hand on her shoulder; recognized that grip. "Train wreck," she murmured. "That's what Tony called it once…when you can't take your eyes off a situation. Like I can't take my eyes off Tony right now."

"Still in a coma?" Gibbs asked Ducky.

"Yes."

"Any improvement?" He really was asking, _Any hope?_

Ducky sighed. "There's no family that we can notify. Tony's emergency contacts field on his personnel forms are blank, as you probably know. He told me once that in the event of his death, information on how to find his father could be found in his will, but…"

Gibbs felt at a loss. He should have talked to a doctor, gotten information, before just rushing in here. "What happens next?" he asked Ducky.

"He's had one 90-minute session in the hyperbaric chamber, with hyperbaric oxygen administered under high pressure. Then while the pressure is gradually brought back to normal, he continues to rest in the chamber. After awhile, he'll…he'll have another session in the chamber."

Gibbs looked over at Tony in the bed, an oxygen mask still on his face. _If he makes it to that point._ "Ziva and McGee?"

"They're faring a little better, although their conditions are still grave. The doctors will tell us if…when..they waken…well, of course, we'll notice it with Timothy since he's here, but…"

"But?"

"There could be complications. They've been unconscious for so long…CO poisoning can result in seizures and brain damage…Jethro, I know what you're thinking, and this is _not_ your fault."

"Isn't it? You weren't there, Duck. The problem is, neither was I. I should have checked on them. I should have…"

" '_Should, should, should'_, Jethro. 'I have offended God and mankind because my work didn't reach the quality it should have.' – Leonardo DaVinci. Don't blame yourself for your hindsight. We are not born all-knowing."

Abby wiped a tear from her cheek and added, "_Should_. 'You should always go to other people's funerals. Otherwise, they won't come to yours.' – Yogi Berra." She laughed a little nervously.

Not willing to let himself crack even the faintest smile, Gibbs only said, "Have either of you been to see Ziva, or sat with McGee?"

Ducky swallowed. "There weren't enough trained technicians onsite today, due to the holiday, to treat all three simultaneously. Tony had the highest CO levels in his blood, so he was given priority."

"They're only able to do one at a time??"

"It's _Christmas_, Jethro…"

Again Gibbs felt a crunching pain in his gut and his heart. "How much will the delay cost them?"

"Well, they've been getting standard oxygen treatment all along. They haven't been ignored. Actually, Ziva should be coming out of the chamber shortly; then it'll be McGee's turn."

"It may be ages then before we know anything. Why don't you two go home? I'll stay."

"When I'm with the people I love, I _am_ home," Abby said in a whisper. "But I'll go sit with McGee now."

- - - - -

It was a long night. Now, with the old year's days so incredibly short and the nights so very dark and unending, a stillness sat upon Washington. Outside, scant, dry snow fell and blew around, not having enough moisture to cling to the cold, cold earth. There was no warmth to be found; even inside the hospital's thick walls the cold seeped…a psychological feeling, mostly. When one believes one is cold, they will _feel_ cold, no matter what the thermostat reads.

After awhile with Tony, Gibbs went to the other side of the curtained room to sit with Tim. Ducky and Abby had departed to wait for Ziva to be brought to a room; hoping their friend would have regained consciousness.

_How close to be to someone, and not be able to reach them,_ he thought, watching Tim lie still in the bed.

"Hey," Gibbs said. He was alone with Tim; no one would hear him talking to someone who couldn't answer. "What a way to spend Christmas, huh?"

_This is no good._ He searched for better words, but couldn't think of any. If McGee could hear him…

"Sir, it's time for his hyperbaric oxygen treatment."

Gibbs looked up at the doctor who'd come in with a nurse and an orderly. "Oh. Sorry."

"You can see him again in 2-3 hours."

"Thanks." _What am I saying 'thanks' for?? McGee and Ziva both should have gone into the hyperbaric chambers as soon as they arrived here, just as Tony did. Why couldn't the place have called in more help?? If McGee's condition worsens because he didn't get the care right away…_

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he went to Ziva's room.

- - - - -

"She's a fighter," said the doctor in admiration. "Much less body mass than the men, but she's holding her own."

"Our Ziva never gives up. _Never,"_ said Abby, smiling tearfully. "Does this mean she's going to wake up soon?"

"Possibly. We try to give CO victims in their condition three hyperbaric treatments in the first 24 hours. That helps a lot."

"What exactly does it do?" asked Gibbs. "Why don't you just keep them _in_ the chambers, if that's the case?"

"It doesn't work like that. This is essentially the same kind of treatment that divers who experience the bends undergo. Oxygen administered under high pressure, and the body given time to readjust, gradually, to normal pressure. It's important that oxygen crowd out the damaging CO in their bloodstreams…"

Gibbs tuned him out. This was nothing he didn't already know, and again his irritation rose at the hospital's lack of staff at the moment. He tried to squash those feelings. _Next thing, I'll be blaming my team for working on Christmas._

His cell phone rang and Gibbs stepped out into the hall to answer it. It was Vance. _"The fire department has determined that the cause of the CO was indeed faulty repair to the furnace. The repair company will be investigated. A different company will be brought on site tomorrow to repair the repairs. Schultz has Building #200 ready for business tomorrow."_

"Does the FD suspect sabotage?"

"_No, at least, not yet. Specialists from Baltimore will take a look at it tomorrow. How are your people?"_

Gibbs couldn't keep the sigh out of his voice. "I don't know. Hanging on. DiNozzo has it worst; he may not make it. All are still in comas."

"_Dang. If there's anything I can do, be sure to let me know."_

"Pray." It wasn't a word Gibbs used lightly, or often, but it seemed right.

- - - - -

Surprisingly, Ziva was the first to show signs of improvement. One moment Abby was stroking her hand, and the next, Ziva's eyes flickered open, only to close again before reopening.

Abby limited her glee to a mild (for Abby) squeeze of her friend's hand, while Ducky summoned the doctor. "No, Agent David; leave the oxygen mask in place," the doctor directed. "You've had carbon monoxide poisoning."

"McGee? And Tony?" Ziva asked, her voice muffled and hard to understand.

"They're recovering, as well," Ducky said swiftly, with a squeeze of Abby's other hand.

"Feel…awful…"

"Just rest," said the doctor. "You'll have a hyperbaric chamber treatment soon. You've already had one."

"Exciting. Like a … deep sea diver…" Ziva drifted back into sleep.

"She needs her strength, and the brain still hasn't gotten enough oxygen to let her stay awake. Natural sleep is good right now," said the doctor. "But this is very promising."

- - - - -

Tim's hyperbaric chamber session was worrisome; coming out of the chamber, he showed little improvement. "Agent DiNozzo gets the next round in the chamber," said a doctor, "and then Agent McGee again. Agent David can wait."

- - - - -

Dawn came on December 26. Gibbs, Abby and Ducky had remained at the hospital; sleeping on chairs in Tim and Tony's room. When the crack of morning light reached Gibbs' eye, he stirred, and, seeing no change in Tony, went over to Tim.

Tim was still solidly out. And then…he stirred.

- - - - -

The holiday over, the hospital ramped up its staff again, and Gibbs' team was able to get the hyperbaric treatments on a less-demanding schedule.

"Don't think of it that way, Jethro," Ducky chided. "Your people were not really disadvantaged. There's still a lot that's not known about hyperbaric treatment, and some dispute on how many treatments are needed. If the hospital had felt that our friends were in danger, they would have brought more people in."

Gibbs growled. What Ducky said was doubtless true, but still not good enough. _Had this happened on any other day…_

- - - - -

Noon: Tim was on the verge of wakefulness, but having seizures.

- - - - -

By 3 p.m. that day, Ziva had been freed of the oxygen mask, and was sitting up in bed; even walking for short stretches. She would go home in another day or two, with nothing more than aching muscles and headaches and a tendency toward a bloody nose. The doctors warned that other problems might crop up in the coming weeks, however. Ziva would have to watch for that.

Tim, by this time, was conscious, but confused. He wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings, he'd lost the ability to concentrate, and his memory was shot. _Cognitive problems,_ the doctors said. Gibbs silently fretted at the damage done to a brilliant mind. Tim would need lots of therapy to help him recover. It was hoped that he _would_ fully recover.

- - - - -

Gibbs sat with Tony as evening came and Tim slept; having dispatched Ducky and Abby to their own homes at last.

His thoughts were sober. His team wouldn't be functional as a team for weeks…if then. Schultz' team would take over the MCRT slot for the time being; Vance had phoned him to say that they already had a case, and had urged him to go home and get some rest. But Gibbs was not ready for that; not yet.

"Gotta say something," Gibbs spoke quietly, as the memory of the previous day in the chapel came to mind. "You do a great job, Tony. I'm proud to have you on my team; to work with you. I should have said this before now." He looked away, as if expecting to see an angel or other spiritual being beside him, nodding approval. But there was none. He was alone with his agent.

"Yes, you're a pain sometimes, but you really are good at what you do. You should be the one getting those _Special Agent of the Year_ awards…"

"I don't want 'em."

The voice was so soft that at first Gibbs thought he'd imagined it. "You awake?" he asked.

"Sort of…"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Some of it. Didn't sound like you, boss."

Gibbs smiled. "Well, maybe it's time to correct that. I'll say it again: you're a good agent, Tony. And so are Ziva and McGee. And I'll tell them that, too."

"Nice to hear. Why am I here? Hospital room?"

"CO poisoning. All three of you got sick. I think you're going to be okay."

Tony blinked and fully opened his eyes. Then he yawned. "M' hungry."

"Are you up for Chinese?" Gibbs grinned.

"Sure. Always. If you're ordering, I want orange crispy beef."

"I know what you all like. I'll be back with it shortly."

"Thanks, boss. Oh, and Merry Christmas."

_It is indeed,_ Gibbs thought as he went out. _I got everything I could have wished for._

-END-


End file.
